


And I'll Have This Phone To My Head

by puk



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puk/pseuds/puk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when the Atlanta Thrashers are officially relocated to Winnipeg, Patrick starts to internally freak the fuck out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'll Have This Phone To My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Written, obviously, just after the Atlanta Thrashers were relocated to Winnipeg. Pre-slash. Title from Fall Out Boy, *67. Fill for the kink meme: http://hockeyanonmeme.livejournal.com/733.html?thread=1275357#t1275357

Sometimes Patrick thinks about the future. About where he’d like to play out his career. About who he wants on the ice with him while he does it.

He knows there’s always the possibility of playing against Jonathan instead of with him. But it’s not a topic Patrick likes to dwell on. If he’s honest, the thought flat out distresses him. The first time the idea pops into his brain, it begins to eat away at the tissue like acid. Suddenly, that’s all he can think about.

And when the Atlanta Thrashers are officially relocated to Winnipeg, Patrick starts to internally freak the fuck out.

_

They’re sitting on the couch at Johnny’s place, swearing at each other over a game of Mario Kart. 

“Fuck you! Always with the fucking shells. Asshole.”

Jon’s biting back a grin, Pat fuming on the couch next to him and fighting for a better position in the race. An hour later and Pat is dropping the controller to the ground with a muttered curse, ignoring Jon’s umpteenth victory fist pump.

“Done. We are done. Our friendship is over.” Pat flops back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms over his chest like a child.

“Whatever, dude. You’d be sad and mopey without me,” Jon retorts, setting his own controller on the coffee table.

And that brings Pat’s thoughts back to Winnipeg. He puffs out an annoyed breath, tightening his arms against his body, hugging something that isn’t there.

“Would you …” 

Jon turns his head, eyebrow raised. “Would I …?”

Pat hesitates, sighs, shakes his head. “Nothing, nevermind.” He fakes a yawn, stretches his arms high above his head. “I’m outta here. I’ve had enough of your ugly mug for one day.”

Jon tries to trip Pat as he moves past to leave, laughing as Pat catches himself just before stumbling flat on his face. Pat offers a smack upside Jon’s head, grunts out, “G’night, asshole,” and heads home.

-

It’s been a week since Pat’s returned to Buffalo. Between catching up with family and going out with friends, it’s damn near impossible to find time to think about Jon and Winnipeg. At least, Pat would have assumed so.

However, at 3 am on a … Thursday? He thinks it’s Thursday. Whatever. The point is, Pat finds himself unable to sleep with his phone in his hand. And Jon’s name highlighted on the display. 

Jon would possibly fly out to kill Pat if he called right now. So Pat settles on a text. 

_stop touching it u’ll go blind_

He’s startled when the phone lights up seconds later with a response.

_fuck you. why are you awake?_

When Pat takes too long to respond, his phone lights up again. Pat frowns down at the display, briefly considers not answering the call before giving in.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time.” Pat keeps his voice low, doesn’t want to wake up anyone else in the house.

“What’s wrong? Why are you texting me in the middle of the night? Are you –“

Pat groans, glaring into the darkness of his bedroom. “Don’t even ask if I’m drunk. I’m not. Fuck you.”

He can hear Jon breathing over the line. He sounds so fucking far away. And Pat’s heart clenches tight in his chest. _Fuckfuckfuck Jon’s in Winnipeg and Pat’s in Buffalo and they should both be in Chicago. Together. Fuck._

It’s a few more moments before Jon begins rambling about what he’s been up to the past few days. Quietly, hesitant, like he’s trying to fill the silence without disturbing it. And just like that, Pat relaxes. 

Jon talks for hours, Pat interjecting here and there when he feels the need. But mostly he just listens. And misses Jon. So much more than he wants to admit.

Pat’s clock reads 6:28am when Jon loses steam. There’s a stretch of nothing, then Pat says, “Would you …”

And Jon doesn’t respond, just waits patiently on the other end of the line. It takes time for Pat to continue, but he knows Jon’s there, phone pressed to his ear, curled up on his side under a blanket, listening. Waiting.

“Would you ever leave me?” 

Immediately Pat wants to take the words back. To shove them back down his own throat. Back into his brain. Into his erratically beating heart. Far away from Jon’s ears, from the possibility of losing so much that Pat never even really had.

He doesn’t notice how quickly Jon responds, because to Pat, the world has stopped. It seems like minutes, hours, days. In reality, it’s not even seconds before Jon breathes out one word.

“Never.”


End file.
